Task Name Encke
by A2MOM
Summary: If Keeler is just like Encke-lost, lonely-it doesn't really matter. That dream died long ago for both of them. Or did it? Encke/OC, Encke/Keeler


Task Name Encke

Job is Encke's first navigator. Encke is just twenty years old, a lean, dark, killing machine; newly graduated from the Alliance Academy, top of his class. Job is nine years his senior; short, plain, utterly unimpressive. He's a combat veteran though, with seven tours under his belt, so Encke tries not to feel cheated when they meet for the first time in Commander Powell's office.

"C'mon, kid! " Job grins, clapping him on the shoulder and leading him down the corridor of starbase seven, "allow me to escort you to your new home away from home."

When Job isn't pointing out all the things he'll have to know-which lift runs the fastest, where to get palatable coffee- he's chatting animatedly with nearly everyone they pass. They all seem to know him, navigators, fighters and base crew alike. They all seem to like him, too. Hell, Encke thinks, he's probably like part of the scenery by now, he's been here so damn long. Kind of like an old dog, that doesn't know when to go home.

Their cabin is a 10 by 12 shared space that holds two bunks, a small footlocker and a head barely big enough to turn around in. They'll be living, flying and eating together for the next year. Time to set some ground rules, Encke thinks.

"Top or bottom, kid," Job grins up at him, his bright green eyes making him look like a naughty little boy. "You're the guest, so you pick first. "

Encke eyes the narrow bunks, neither will be comfortable for his 6'3" frame, but he's slept on worse.

"Top is fine," he says, and Job laughs.

"Yeah, you look like a top to me!" He gives Encke a playful nudge and wink. "Okay, kid, stow your gear and I'll take you down to the mess. I'm so hungry, even reconstituted tomato soup's going to taste like my wife's beef stew!"

Encke sets his duffle on the top bunk, then turns to face the smaller man. "Look, navigator," he begins arrogantly, leaning in to Job's personal space," you keep touching me and calling me 'kid', we're gonna have a problem."

Job's thick blond eyebrows climb to his crew cut hairline. "Is that so? Damn, kid, the first thing I'm going to have to teach you, is to have a sense of humor. " And he punches Encke, playfully, on his arm.

Encke sees red, and lunges for him, and five seconds later is flat on his face on the floor. Job's hand is clamped like a vice around the back of his neck, one knee wedged against his spine.

"Get the fuck off me!" Encke spits, thrashing with rage, but for a guy half a head shorter and twenty kilos lighter, Job has a helluva grip.

"Lesson number one:" Job says conversationally, "never underestimate your adversary. Ah, now don't do that, kid," Job tsks , as Encke tries to kick him. He changes his grip subtly and Encke panics, as everything below his waist goes numb.

"Lesson number two: never overestimate yourself." He releases Encke, even offering a hand to help him clumsily to his feet, which the humiliated fighter then swats angrily away. Job looks up at him, an expectant smile on his face, as Encke straightens his uniform, and his pride.

"Can you teach me that?" Encke asks gruffly after a beat, and Job throws his head back, laughing.

"Sure, kid," he grins, slinging a companionable arm around Encke's shoulders, "that'll be lesson number three."

Job is killed after they've been partnered together just shy of a year. A routine patrol along the borders of Colteron space goes horribly wrong, when three enemy ships make a surprise, suicide attack. When they crash, Encke's body is crushed, from mid abdomen all the way down to his knees. It will take three months of surgeries, rehabilitation and retraining before he can return to active duty again.

It will take far longer than that for his mind to heal.

Lying in the infirmary in the first few weeks following the accident, Encke wakes one night to see Job standing beside his bed.

"I'm sorry!" Encke sobs, in a delirium of narcotics and grief, "It should have been me, Job; I should have died instead of you!"

Job's homely, square face smiles down at him, serene, radiant. He lays a hand on Encke's arm. "It wasn't your time, kid, it was mine. You still have a lot to learn, and even more to do."

Encke returns to active duty, rehab status, just after he turns 21. He can't fly yet, not in space, at least, so he and Magellan, his new navigator, perform practice runs in the sim lab . Encke is moody and short tempered, he's still in pain most days and Magellan is a poor substitute for Job. After their third fight in six weeks, a terrorized Magellan goes to Powell and begs for a transfer.

His next navigator, Taurus stays with him two months; Raphael, less than three weeks.

Powell sends him to counseling where he refuses to talk, busts him back to restricted duty after a stint in the brig for assault, and finally brings him to his office for an ultimatum.

"You have taken up enough of my time, boy, and if it was up to me I'd have kicked your sorry ass off my base long ago!" Encke stands at rigid attention while Powell barks in his face, trembling with a rage he has no idea how to control.

"You are hereby grounded. " Encke feels his stomach twist in disbelief at his commanding officer's decree. "You are hereby placed on a 90 day behavioral probation plan, at the end of which you will be evaluated by Dr. Renard to determine if you are fit for duty. If you fail to meet these conditions you will be dishonorably discharged from service. Do you understand me, fighter?"

"Yes sir!" Encke barks, and Powell shakes his head in disgust.

"Get your shit together, boy, or I will get it together for you! When you're ready to stop acting like a first class fuck-up, maybe I'll understand what Job saw in you. Until then, get the hell out of my office."

Everything is gone, Encke despairs. His Wings and his rank and most of all, Job. Encke turns to leave, and wills himself to at least make it to his cabin before he he throws up, or worse, breaks down and cries.

It will remain one of the worst periods in his life. He's housed in the barracks with the rest of the unpartnered fighters, where, thanks to his size and reputation, he is largely left alone. He grits his teeth and does whatever Powell asks of him, scrubbing floors and cleaning out latrines, serving endless hours of KP. Each day that he watches the rest of his squad troop off to fly, laughing with each other and their navigators, he hates himself just a little bit more. Whatever it takes, however many times he has to lay his soul bare in Renard's counseling sessions, he'll do. Anything, to get back into the cockpit of a starfighter again.

At the end of his probationary period, Powell reinstates him without ceremony. It's a bitter anticlimax after all his blood, sweat and tears, but Encke can't complain. Especially when Powell introduces him to his new flying partner.

"I'm Aaron," the young man smiles, turning to greet Encke when he enters Powell's office. His voice is a sweet as honey Georgia tenor and suddenly, it's hard to breathe . A heartbreakingly beautiful face looks up at Encke; sloe eyes framed by thick black lashes, wavy strawberry blond hair and a lush, full mouth. The hand Aaron extends for Encke to shake is warm and smooth, making goose bumps erupt on him from head toe.

"Report for duty at 0700 tomorrow morning." Powell says, handing Encke their room assignment. He looks shrewdly from Aaron, to Encke, and back again. "Dismissed."

Encke can't stop staring. Lithe and graceful, his new navigator turns more than a few heads as they make their way to their quarters. Aaron keeps up an effortless flow of conversation but Encke only nods, knowing he'll make a fool of himself if he opens his mouth. Those full, sensual lips draw his eyes helplessly and Encke finds himself wondering what they would taste like. How they would feel, against his skin.

Their room is slightly larger than the one he shared with Job, nearly eighteen months ago. Surprisingly, they have their own private shower. Before Encke knows what is happening, Aaron has tossed his duffel on the nearest bunk, and is taking off his clothes.

"I don't know about you," Aaron grins wickedly, "but the last time I had my own bathroom, I was five."

Encke stares, transfixed, as his new navigator of less than half an hour peels off every piece of his uniform, chatting away as blithely as if they were discussing the weather. By the time Aaron bends over to shimmy out of his shorts, Encke is hard as a rock.

Aaron turns, smiling over one slim shoulder before he disappears into the bathroom.

"Well?" he winks, "What are you waiting for?"

Before the door has even shut Encke is moving faster than he ever has in his life, yanking off his clothes and throwing them haphazardly aside. He stumbles into the tiny bathroom, vainly trying to cover his throbbing erection with one hand.

"Nice," Aaron drawls, looking Encke up and down. He crooks a finger, beckoning. "Come on in, baby, and play with me."

Encke joins him under the spray, trembling when Aaron runs soapy hands all over him, squeezing his pecs and teasing his nipples. He gasps as Aaron's knowing hands slip around to grab his ass, pulling their bodies flush together.

"Have you done this before?" Aaron whispers at his ear, sucking on the lobe. "Had sex with a man?"

"No-uh, kind of," Encke lies. He's never had sex with anyone, just some furtive stroking in basic training with a fellow recruit. He's never even been kissed.

"Don't you worry, baby," Aaron laughs against his mouth. "I have."

They fuck constantly; in their room and shower and hidden places all over the base. There isn't anything Aaron doesn't teach him, and Encke loves it all. For the first time his body isn't just some tool someone else controls. This new world of sex and love is a powerful drug, and Encke quickly becomes an addict.

It doesn't help that everyone else wants Aaron too, and that Aaron flirts outrageously with every man on the base. Not a day goes by that Encke doesn't have to protect what's his with glares and snarled threats. He can't risk fighting again, not so soon after his probation. Powell is sure to make good on his promise to dismiss him then. And this time, worse than losing Job, it would be the first person Encke has fallen in love with that would be gone.

Somehow they find time to fly, and when they do, it's a bliss almost as good as sex. Aaron is as skilled at navigation as anything else, and with him, Encke finishes his second tour with a commendation instead of disciplinary action. Everything is perfect, at last, and Encke dreams of a future with Aaron after the war. Maybe, they can go to Earth, and live where there are trees, and the night sky has only stars; no explosions, no ships, and no Colterons.

He tells Aaron one night, lying together sated and warm in their narrow bed, and Aaron looks at him, and smiles.

"That sounds beautiful, baby," he murmurs, kissing Encke softly. "I can't wait."

In the morning he's gone. 'C'mon, baby,' the message flashing on Encke's computer screen reads. 'You didn't really think this was forever, did you? It was fun while it lasted, you were a sweet fuck, but this is war. We all have to do whatever it takes, to survive.'

Encke learns from Powell that Aaron had requested a transfer the week before. Reeling with shock and betrayal, he stumbles back to their room and proceeds to destroy everything he can with his bare hands, screaming his rage til it echoes off the walls and the MP's come and drag him to the brig. Job had died, but Aaron simply got bored.

It's an ugly, brutal place. A handful of days ago he was lying in bed with a beautiful, warm lover, and now he's on a cold pallet in a cell that smells of piss and blood and despair. There is noise, constantly; incoherent drunks , men cursing, the shouted orders of the MPs. Occasionally, two fighters will be dragged in for fighting each other, and one of them will be stupid enough to try and take on the guards. Then, there is screaming when they beat him, and sobbing, for a long time, after lights out.

One night, Encke wakes, to see Job sitting beside him on the narrow cot inside his cell.

"You don't want to do that, kid," Job says quietly. Encke looks down, to see his sheets, knotted in his hands. There's a conduit overhead that will probably hold his weight.

"I can't do this anymore, Job," Encke tells him bleakly. "The war and the orders and the lies. There's nothing left for me anymore." He turns pale, pleading eyes to his former friend. "Can't you take me with you?"

But Job just smiles gently, laying a hand on his arm. "Not this time, kid. There's something for you, I promise. You'll see. Soon."

When he is released two week later, bruised and withdrawn, there's a new navigator waiting in his room. The boy's name is Tibalt, an anemic, frightened eighteen year old with almond eyes and a submissive slouch to his shoulders. Encke barely speaks to him. The boy flies well enough but flinches whenever Encke looks his way. Their schedules largely keep them appart; it's a full week before they share the cabin together at lights out.

Tibalt comes out of the head while Encke is stripping for sleep, naked and trembling. His pale dick hangs limp among the downy hair at his groin, and his arms hug himself pathetically.

"Can we use this?" he asks Encke meekly, holding out a vial of oil. "My last fighter wouldn't let me and sometimes, I still bleed a little."

Encke stares at him in horrified disbelief. "Put your clothes on, boy, "he snaps . "I ain't gonna touch you. I ain't gonna touch anybody ever again."

Tibalt looks at him, tears welling in his eyes. "Oh, "he whispers, smiling, "thank you."

It's the last night he spends with Encke anyway, preferring to lie curled around one of his fellow navigators at night. Encke flies with him for over six months, until Tibalt comes to him one day, to tell him that he's leaving him, too.

"My father died," Tibalt tells him when he finds Encke in the fighter's gym. "My mother is all alone, and there's no one to take care of her, and my little sister. Commander Powell says I can go home."

Encke eyes roam over the boy's face, still pale but finally, relieved. Encke can't help but be relieved too. Tibalt doesn't belong here, in this place of coarse language and brutal men. People like him should be poets, or teachers, not puppets in someone else's war.

"Okay then," Encke tells him. "You go home and take of your family. Sounds like they need you more than the Alliance does."

Tibalt smiles. "Goodbye, Encke. Thanks for well, for being nice to me. "He hugs Encke then, quickly, and blushes, pulling away. "I hope you can be happy someday too."

Encke watches him leave, and realizes, he's the only person in his life so far, to have said goodbye.

The war escalates then, and the Alliance mounts an offensive against the Colterons by sending a battleship, the Sleipnir, deep into their space. Encke is now almost twenty-five years old, a battle hardened combat veteran, who's seen more than most men twice his age. His life has become the war, the regimented schedules and lack of sleep, stretches of boredom spiked with moments of sheer terror. He has no friends, no lovers, and prefers it that way.

Powell, for once, is pleased. He's retiring, and before he does, calls Encke to his office to meet Bering and Cook, the Commanders he will serve under on the Sleipnir.

"The ship will need a Lead Fighter," Powell tells him curtly. "I want you to do the job."

"Yes sir," Encke answers with surprise. He knew he was up for promotion, but hadn't expected anything this important. "Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me yet," Powell laughs, and Bering chuckles, his dark goatee making him look vaguely satanic. Cook, an icy, Aryan blond, just studies him through narrowed eyes, like a snake sizing up its prey. Encke forms an instant dislike for the man, but keeps his expression neutral.

"This is going to make basic training look like kindergarten," Powell tells him bluntly. "You will be responsible for the training of seventy-five fighters and when they fuck up, you pay. This is a suicide mission, boy, but with the right leadership, and the intercession of the Blessed Mother , we might make it home. I think you can handle that. Do you agree?"

"Yes sir," Encke responds smartly, trying to keep his flush of pride at bay."I can handle that, sir".

"Good", Powell booms, smiling, and he and Bering share a laugh. "Always knew you had it in you, boy!"

Then Cook addresses him. "You'll be working with the Lead navigator too, of course," the man tells him in his oily, cultured voice." He's on patrol, but I've asked him to come here to meet you-ah, here he is now."

The door to Powell's office sighs open, and the other shoe drops.

The man is small, still clad in a clinging flight suit, panting slightly as if he's run all the way from the hangar deck.

"Task name Keeler," Cook says with a satisfied smile.

The navigator peels off his helmet to reveal long, disheveled blond hair, sweat tracking down the side of his heart shaped face. He steps forward, extending a gloved hand for Encke to shake. His smile is brief, and tired.

"Nice to meet you, Encke," Keeler says politely. His eyes are the most startling blue Encke has ever seen.

Encke sets his jaw, nods once, and pulls his hand away.

The long walk to their new quarters is painfully silent. Keeler is obviously exhausted, dark circles under his huge eyes making him look older than his twenty-six years. Encke keeps his mouth shut, furiously cursing himself for a fool. Powell has handed him Aaron, all over again, and from the looks of things, the bastard knew exactly what he was doing. This time, Encke knows exactly what to do, too.

Once inside their room, the largest Encke has had so far-two, separate large bunks and a computer workstation-Encke turns, unsmiling, to his new partner.

"Let's get a few things straight," he says bluntly. "We have to work together, but that's it. I don't want to know you. I don't want to fuck you. And most of all," he finishes, refusing to let Keeler's frightened expression affect him, "unless it pertains to duty, I don't want to talk to you. Am I making myself clear, navigator?"

Keeler stares at him, silent, eyes welling until he blinks them rapidly clear. He's beautiful, and Encke hates him, hates Bering and Powell and himself, most of all.

"Yes," Keeler whispers, "perfectly clear". And setting his jaw, he adds, "Sir".

When Keeler strips out of his filthy flightsuit, Enkce curls up on his bunk away from him, facing the wall. He's fast asleep, before the shower even stops running.

"…by 0800 hours, that shouldn't be a problem, sir."

A low murmur of voices wakes Encke at 0600 the next morning. Keeler is standing at the comm link, talking with Cook. Light from the control panel casts an eerie, ice green glow over Keeler's platinum blond hair and the curves of his face. The room smells like warm bath and black coffee; a steaming cup sits on the desk beside Keeler's right elbow. Apparently there are perks to being an officer, after all, even if it's only an in room drinks dispenser.

Encke rolls out of bed clad only in his shorts, and Keeler glances at him as he ends the call with Cook.

"We both have team briefings at 0800," he tells Encke. He's already dressed, up for awhile by the looks of his neatly made bunk and scrubbed face. "Our schedules downloaded this morning."

He gathers the loose sheet of hair that hangs to his mid back, pulls it over his right shoulder and quickly begins to braid. "Mine is jammed tight for the next forty-eight hours; yours doesn't look much better."

Encke grabs his toiletry kit and pads, yawning, into the head. "That any good?" he asks Keeler, nodding towards his cup.

"Awful", Keeler admits, making a face. "But at least it's hot."

Over the next few weeks they see little of each other, but Encke has to admit, as partners for this assignment go, he could have done a lot worse. When they are together Keeler is quiet and businesslike; he keeps himself and his belongings neat and tidy. He's an excellent pilot, too, and together they form a dynamic flying team. Encke is gratified to find himself, at last, with a navigator equal in skill to Job.

It almost makes Keeler easy to work with.

But Keeler isn't anything like Job. He's more like Encke; flawed, and damaged. Jaded . Too many missions flown, too many friends lost. And then of course, there's the elephant that waits for them each night in their cramped room.

It's been a long time since Aaron. Keeler has a pale, androgynous beauty that's difficult to ignore. Encke senses Keeler's interest too. He'll catch him looking sometimes, at Encke's broad shoulders or large hands, glancing away with a blush if Encke meets his eye. If Keeler's face is just like Encke's -longing, lonely- it doesn't really matter. That dreamed died long ago. It seems it has for Keeler, too.

They're in the hangar bay one afternoon, working in the cockpit of their starfighter, the Scythe. It's been a surprisingly quiet week on patrol, and the weapons array on their battle scarred ship needs a serious overhaul. Neither of them trust the Slepiner's crew to perform the task to their exacting standards, so they spend a rare afternoon of downtime working. Again.

Encke is perched on the wing slightly above Keeler who, being smaller, is folded like a pretzel within the cockpit, picking apart various bits of hardware that need replacement or repair. It looks miserably uncomfortable, but Keeler hasn't complained. Neither of them have said more than a handful of words to each other during the two hours they've been at the task, anyway. Keeler's long fingers work to free a piece of circuitry from the mother board, a lock of his long blond hair falling loose from its braid. Irritated, he tucks it behind his right ear.

"That's a lot of work for nothing," Encke hears himself say. He pauses at his task of upgrading the computer's diagnostics, slightly annoyed with himself.

"What is?" Keeler asks absently, not looking up from his work.

"All that damn long girlie hair." Encke says it mildly enough, at least.

Keeler gives a noncommittal shrug. "Not everyone looks good in high and tight," he remarks. He glances up, at the dark strip of hair that runs down the center of Encke's shorn scalp.

Encke shakes his head. "Son, you ain't never worn it high and tight."

Keeler's hands still. "Once," he admits quietly after a moment. Without looking at Encke, he gathers his long, silken braid in his right hand, lifting it away from his neck. When he tilts his head up and to the left, Encke swears , sucking in a breath.

The scar is long, starting at the nape of Keeler's neck and running behind his right ear to disappear into his scalp. It's fine, and faded, barely noticeable unless you were really looking for it. Encke has shared a room with Keeler for over a month now, and has seen him in every state of dress. But he's never seen this scar before.

"I'm pretty good at covering it up," Keeler explains matter of factly. "I kind of got tired of all the questions. It was either grow my hair out, or wear a sign that said, 'Caution: Broken Neck!". "

"How-?" Encke begins, then closes his mouth with a frown.

Keeler looks away from him again and resumes working, remaining silent for several long moments.

"I made a rookie mistake," he finally answers. "The first six months I was in the cockpit. We crashed into a satellite, and the nose of our ship imploded and pinned me in my seat. My neck was broken and Apollo…" His voices hitches on the name, but he quickly recovers. "My fighter died," he finishes briskly.

"Had my whole head shaved, for six weeks!" he adds, with a brittle smile. "The medics didn't think I'd ever walk again, let alone fly. " He fingers the tail of his braid absently and says, almost to himself, "I haven't thought about Apollo for a long time. He liked my hair long."

It's a lie; the scar he sees in the mirror each day has to be a constant reminder. Encke knows, he's got more than one on his body, too.

Encke stares at the back of his bent, white blonde head, and all the things Keeler doesn't say flash vividly through his mind. Trapped, unable to move while your life support fails and the cabin fills with noxious fumes. Screaming a name over and over again that will never answer you, except in your dreams. Knowing you failed, you let your partner die, the one person who trusted and loved you most.

He could save the moment by telling Keeler about his own accident. About how Job died, and the agony he went through to heal afterward in body and mind. He does neither, they aren't friends, after all. Encke has made sure of that.

"I'm sorry, Encke," Keeler says , and Encke can hears the tears in his voice though he can't see them in his eyes, " I forgot, you didn't want to talk to me." He looks up at Encke with a sad half smile. "It won't happen again."

The smell of coffee hits him before his eyes are even open. One of these days, Encke thinks, sitting on the side of his bed, groggy with too little sleep, I might manage to wake up first.

But he never does. Keeler is always up first, dressed or just coming out of the head, with the ever present cup of black coffee in his hand. If he's really hungry, there'll be a protein bar jammed in his mouth as he chews and dresses at the same time. Some days it's the only thing Encke sees him eat. Today Keeler is moving about the room in quick, angry motions, pulling on his uniform and swearing under his breath when his brush catches in his sleep tangled hair.

"My God, just give me your razor and I'll shave this whole mess off," he snaps, re-tying his braid for the third time. "Maybe you were right."

They haven't really seen much of each other since last week in the hangar deck. Encke has found that Keeler is good at hiding a lot of things, particularly himself when he wants to avoid confrontation. It scarcely matters who's avoiding who. They both have an influx of new recruits to train, this batch containing some spectacular losers. A frightening sign, Encke thinks grimly, if the war is doing so poorly the Alliance is forced to lower its standard to this extent.

"I hate being late," Keeler is still complaining as he stuffs his feet into his boots. "Cook wants me to go over the engine prototype specs with Abel and I overslept. "

Encke glances at the clock; 0545. Christ, even Bering doesn't expect him on duty until 7. Cook is an uptight, anal asshole who seems to think Keeler is his personal slave. Encke knows, too, that Keeler overslept because he spent half the night in medical, talking down a hysterical , suicidal recruit who looked like he was barely sixteen. There isn't enough of Keeler to go around, ever, but it doesn't stop him from trying to do everything himself.

"That any good?" Encke yawns towards the coffee, standing and stretching his aching back. He's definitely not looking forward to combat training today.

Keeler shoots him a pointed look. "Encke. You ask me that every morning. If hot sludge is your idea of good, then it's fantastic, otherwise, no, it's still the same shitty crap we had yesterday."

Encke looks at him, flushed and pouting, and suddenly gives a lopsided smile. "Naw, I was wrong. That Apollo dude knew what he was talking about."

Keeler blinks, and then, oh yeah, the blush that stains his face is worth a million credits.

"Smartass," he mumbles, dropping his eyes to his boots again but not before Encke can see the pleased little smile that curves his lips.

"Encke?" Keeler calls just before Encke disappears into the head. "Now that I think about it, the shitty crap we had yesterday is actually getting a little better."

Encke holds Keeler's stare for a pregnant pause, and then he grins.

" 'Bout time," he chuckles, and the door hisses shut behind him.

There are times, Encke thinks, when perhaps they could be friends. He and Job were, after all; as close as brothers that first year Encke spent under his wing. Maybe, things could be the way they were with Aaron, too. And then Encke remembers how it felt when they both left him, and shuts the door on his feelings with a slam . There's no pain Encke hasn't experienced in his life by now. But there a a few he wants never to repeat.

It works, some days, hiding what he thinks, and needs. When Keeler dresses hastily in the mornings, adding a stimulant to his coffee to get him through his hectic day, Encke pretends to sleep. His partner's slim body is a marvel of the genetic enhancements most of the navigators are born with. He's small but strong, built to slip easily inside the narrow cockpit of a star fighter. His eyes are not only beautiful, but sharp, his reflexes and muscle coordination worthy of a gymnast.

By the time Keeler hurries out the door, Encke is already hard. Then, if Keeler has left a damp towel on his bed, Encke will hold it to his face while he jerks off. The scent of Keeler's skin and hair makes him dizzy with arousal and he comes quickly, panting and disgusted with himself. It's nearly impossible to face Keeler's sweet, trusting face afterward, so Encke stays late in the training rooms, taking his frustrations out on his squad, or his favorite punching bag in the gym.

Some days, it doesn't work at all.

It started with Encke waking up from a spectacular wet dream, gasping and drenched in sweat and cum. By some miracle, Keeler was already gone, and Encke was left to strip his bed in humiliated privacy. That would be the only thing that would go right all day.

He reports to training late, and Bering rips him a new asshole for nearly fifteen minutes in front of his snickering squad. They get laps, the little fuckers, until one of them pukes and Encke is forced to pat his back while he heaves his breakfast in the trash. Some of it doesn't make it in the can, but finds his boots instead.

At noon mess he breaks up a brawl, between the Reliant's fighter, again, and the one with the patch over his eye—Perses or Parson or something. Somehow, in the flailing limbs, Encke takes a backhand to the face, and ends up with a fat lip. He puts both fighters on KP and stalks out, furious with himself for moving too slow.

"Sir? " Cassius, his second in command, finds him on his way to the gym. If he doesn't work off this pent up energy somehow, he'll end up court-martialed for killing someone. "Lieutenant Keeler sent a message for you, to meet him in the navigational lab as soon as you can."

Fuck. No way out, Encke grabs his gear and makes his way to the lab. Half way there, he surprises a couple kissing passionately in the lift.

"Aren't you supposed to be on KP?!" he barks at the Reliant's fighter, as he untangles himself from his navigator's embrace. The poor boy -Abel, Encke recalls Keeler raving about him- is beet red and looks as if he wishes the floor would open up and swallow him. The other boy -Cain- stares back at him, lips swollen from kissing and a satisfied expression on his face. The lift reeks of sex and Encke wants to drag them both off for inappropriate fraternization. Or drag them both off and fuck them. Either would suit his mood.

"Yes sir," the fighter manages to stand at attention, not so cocky now, as if he can read Encke's thoughts. "I was-"

"Oh, save it, Reliant, and get the fuck out of my sight. Both of you!" he barks, and the pair don't need to be told twice. Just before the doors shut, he hears the fighter mutter"….really needs to get laid…" and then an indignant yelp as his partner smacks him. Encke stands there, fuming, knowing the little gypsy prick is right.

The navigator's deck is like a private oasis of calm on the hulking battleship. It doesn't look any different, it has the same ugly grey corridors, and lousy lighting, but the atmosphere is worlds different form the places Encke spends the majority of his day. The first thing Encke notices, when he steps of the lift and heads for the lab, is the smell, There isn't one. The place doesn't reek of testosterone and stale breath, though it too is filled with men. There's very little noise, low voices from the training rooms and subdued messages from the comm link all he can hear.

He feels incredibly out of his element, a shark amongst a school of angel fish as he makes his way, still moody, to Keeler's office near the lab. Those he passes give him a wide berth, and nobody stops to engage him in conversation. He enters the lab without a word to Keeler's assistant, and Keeler turns, smiles, and runs up to take his hands.

"Encke," he breathes excitedly, all but dragging him into the room, "you have to see this!"

He drops Encke's hands and darts over to the navigationall orb that sits in the center of the lab. It's a mock-up of the console the navigators use in the cockpit of the starfighters, and Keeler's long fingered hands glide over it now in an almost sensual caress that makes Encke shiver. A second later, the room bursts into color.

They're surrounded by a battle, the holographic images of ships - Alliance and Colteron alike - zooming around their heads in a silent, deadly ballet. To the untrained eye, it looks like a disorganized, chaotic mess, but Encke knows better. Keeler is gesturing animatedly and explaining attack formations and defense strategies. It's a brilliant tactical plan, and Encke can't help but be impressed.

"Damn, son," he murmurs, watching a flank of starfighters take out a squadron of enemy ships just over Keeler's head, "ain't you the little killer."

Keeler blushes pink, bouncing up and down on the balls of his toes with pride. "It's not all my work," he says modestly. "Abel and a group of us were working on it last night, but I had a few more tweeks I wanted to try out on my own." And then he's off again, chattering away about vectors and launch windows, and a warning bell goes off in Encke's head.

Encke stops looking at all the pretty little ships and looks at Keeler instead. His eyes are over bright and there's a fine tremor to his hands. He looks like death warmed over, but he's practically bouncing off the walls. Encke knows why he didn't see him this morning, why he doesn't see him most mornings. He never comes back to sleep in the first place.

"Hey," he says, catching Keeler by the arm to stop his hyperactive pace. "Hey, Keeler, look at me. When's the last time you had any sleep?"

Keeler gapes at him in surprise, and guilt clouds his features briefly. Both pupils in his big blue eyes are huge, despite the glaring lights in the room.

"Oh, I'm not tired," he shrugs, flashing a quick smile and trying to pull out of Encke's grip, but that ain't happening. Encke turns him around to face him fully.

"Yeah, no shit," he frowns. "You all hopped up on something?"

"Of course not!" Keeler frowns back, yanking his arm free. "Just a few cups of coffee ." He rakes a hand through his messy hair, fingers trembling. "I'll take a break in a bit, I just wanted you to see this while it was fresh in my mind. "

Whatever lie he was going to say next is cut off when the lab door hisses open, and Cook joins them. Keeler smiles like a kid on Christmas and rushes over to his commanding officer, and Encke really, really hopes he doesn't try to hold his hands, too.

"Commander!" Keeler greets him happily. Too happy. "It's finally coming together, sir, I've been working on the Alpha and Beta formations and -"

But Cook isn't looking at the ships swirling around their heads, he's looking at Keeler. He's got it figured out in about two seconds, and for once Encke grudgingly respects the man.

"Lieutenant Keeler" Cook says firmly, cutting him off, "report to medical, please."

Keeler stares at him, and if Cook had slapped him he couldn't have looked more hurt. "But sir-"

Cook raises an eyebrow. He isn't smiling. "Lieutenant, you have two choices; you can report to medical and be relieved of duty for the next twenty-four hours, or you can be relieved of your post." He turns to Encke without acknowledging Keeler's stricken expression.

"Lieutenant Encke, will you escort your navigator to the medical bay, please."

Encke draws to attention smartly. "Yes sir!"

Keeler doesn't say a word until they reach the lift.

"Thanks a lot," he snaps when the doors hiss shut. "Nice to know I can count on you to back me up when I need you to."

Encke's jaw clenches, and he sees red. Without a word he reaches over to the lift controls and hits stop with the side of his fist. When he swings around, Keeler is glaring up at him, shaking and furious. Good. It'll make this easier if he's mad, instead of scared.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, huh?" Encke snarls in his face. " Talk about backing your ass up?! How 'bout you back me up? You think I wanna fly with somebody's all jacked up on speed so much he can't hold still for half a second?!"

"I'm not jacked up, you bastard!" Keeler yells back. Encke has him trapped in the corner but he's still standing his ground. "Okay, I spent the night in the lab; I was working! Maybe I had a little too much coffee-"

"-Yeah, I seen what you put in your coffee," Encke retorts, and then swears, as Keeler's hand lashes out, narrowly missing his face. Twice in one day is two too many, and before he knows what he's doing, Encke has both of Keeler's wrists in one, crushing hand and has hauled his arms up over his head. The other hand grabs Keeler's face roughly, pulling one eyelid down.

"You look me in the eye and try to tell me you ain't on something!" he barks, while Keeler curses and struggles in vain to pull free. "You think you gotta work 24/7 to save the world, Keeler?! Ain't gonna do anybody much good if you kill yourself while you're doin' it!" He shakes him, not too hard, but enough to let him know he means business. "You think I want that?!"

Keeler just stares at him, mouth open and panting and eyes huge and they are very, very close. In the scuffle Encke has Keeler's lower body pinned against the lift with his knees, and suddenly he realizes he's hard, unbearably so. And he's not the only one.

"I think," Keeler whispers, panting, "you know exactly what you want, Encke, but you know what? I think you're too much of a coward to do anything about it." He licks his lips, trembling with a mixture of anger and arousal. "What do you think, baby?"

One more inch, that's all that it would take and he'd be inside that hot, eager mouth with his tongue, and it's been so long since he's kissed anyone he can hardly think straight. Keeler is straining towards him too, shaking and the pained, needy sounds coming from his throat are making Encke's body go up in flames. Right now, everything he's ever wanted is being laid out for the taking and he only has to close that one inch between them, and both their frustrations and pent up lust will be staisfied at last.

"I think it's the wrong fuckin' day to tease me," he snarls tightly. He leans forward, his lips brushing Keeler's ear instead of his mouth, making the blond arc against him. "So, 'baby', I think I'm gonna drag your horny little ass to medical, and you can get a nice cold shower to cool you off so you can start thinkin' with your head again', instead of your dick."

He pulls back, furious, glaring into Keeler's humiliated eyes. "You ever take dope again, you ever wind me up like this again, I will tan your ass with the palm of my hand til you can't sit, and then you can find somebody else to fly with ."

It takes every ounce of his strength to not wipe away the tears that spill down Keeler's face. He releases him abruptly, refusing to care when Keeler rubs his wrists in pain. Slapping the lift back into motion, he faces front, wishing like hell he'd gone to the gym instead.

In the infirmary, the CMO, Commander Patel, gives Keeler a dopamine anatgonist to counteract the stimulants his body has been living on for the past few weeks, coupled with a neuro-muscle relaxant and injection of parenetral nutrition. He also gives him a warning.

"The next time you come to my sickbay in this condition of self neglect" the grey haired man tells him in his precise Mumbai accent, "I will admit you for nasal-gastric feedings. Is that clear?"

Keeler looks suitably chastised. "Yes sir," he answers meekly.

They're barely halfway to their cabin when the sedative starts to kick in. By the time the lift deposists them on their level Encke is half carrying Keeler, who is almost asleep on his feet. It's unsettling how frail Keeler feels, leaning against him heavily and still Encke could lift him easily with one arm. He thinks back to their fight in the lift, and is ashamed to realize what a bully he must have seemed.

"Here you go, sleepy head," he says, helping Keeler onto his bunk. "Nighty night time. This's probably the only time ol' Cook's gonna be generous enough to give you a day off, so might as well enjoy it while you can."

"Mmmm..." Keeler murmurs, soft and pliant and Encke wishes they were doing this under very different circumstances. He gently strokes Keeler's hair back from his face, seeing it finally relaxed and free of stress and worry. Keeler is just as beautiful as the day he first laid eyes on him but now, he looks young; so young and burdened and alone.

Before he can rise, Keeler slips his hand into Encke's, their fingers twining together.

"I'm sorry," he whispers into his pillow, eyes closed. "I'm sorry I ruined everything."

"Didn't ruin nothin', baby" Encke tells him, still petting his hair. "Sleep now, and we'll talk later."

A secret smile plays on Keeler's lips . "You can't talk to me, remember? Because..." his words slur and he looks like he's finally fallen asleep. But then he sighs, and adds, "I remind you of...him..."

Encke's heart skips a beat. "What?"he asks before he can stop himself.

"...the...the one that hurt you so much...but, Encke...I would never do...that...to..."

He trails off into sleep, fingers still curled trustingly against Encke's large palm. Encke just stares at him, hoping he could promise him the same.

Sleep claims Keeler for a solid twelve hours. Encke goes back an duty the following morning, but it's no good. When Bering catches him coming back from his quarters for the third time, he takes him aside.

"Lieutenant Keeler all right?" he asks casually as he lights a cigarette. It's a big ship but the grapevine is fast, and Cook would have updated him about Keeler by now.

"Uh, yes, sir," Encke answers, and his face heats when Bering levels a pointed look in his direction.

"Good. Does he need a babysitter, then?"

Encke's swallows, his face on fire. "No, sir."

Bering looks like he wants to say something else, but then shrugs and waves his hand towards the door.

"Ah, hell. I was twenty-five once too. Get the hell out of here, son. I expect you back on duty tomorrow with your head out of your ass. Understood?"

"Yes sir," Encke says, and flees.

It will be many, many years before he realizes what Bering has done, and thanks him for it.

"Hey," he says in surprise when he enters their cabin. "You're up."

Keeler is awake, showered but clad only in a T-shirt and drawstring pants. He's sitting on his bunk, knees drawn up to his chest. There's an empty dinner packet on the desk beside him and a bottled water. No coffee this time, Encke is gratified to see.

Keeler nods. "Abel stopped by. He brought me some dinner, and we talked awhile."

Encke feels like a bit of a jerk; he didn't bring Keeler anything. "So you did some work?" he asks, shrugging out of his uniform jacket, and then sitting to take off his boots.

Keeler shakes his head. "No. We just talked." His eyes go round. "Do you know his fighter -?"

"Is fucking him?" Encke grins as he stows his boots in his locker."You a little late to the party, baby. Everybody knows that."

Keeler rolls his eyes. "Sorry to disappoint you, since you think I'm so innocent and all, but I already knew too. I work with him everyday; I've seen his hickies."

Encke chuckles, wondering what Keeler would say if he told him he'd caught them after a fresh screw in the lift.

"What I was going to ask, is if you knew his fighter was Cain." Keeler gives a little shiver that Encke doesn't think is entirely revulsion. "I mean, Abel's so sweet. And Cain is sort of ...intense."

Laughing, Encke comes and sits beside him on the bed. "Sweet, and a neck full of hickies, somehow that don't add up."

Keeler laughs with him, blushing. "It was nice," he says softly, "just having a friend to talk to. I never knew taking this promotion would make me so different from the rest of the other navigators. I mean, it's like I don't have any friends anymore."

"But if I just keep working," he goes on, "I don't have time to feel...lonely."

The room is very quiet, until Keeler looks into his eyes, and asks, "What was his name, Encke? Please, can't you tell me?"

Encke pauses, then sighs. "Aaron." When Keeler doesn't say anything, he adds, "But you ain't like him, Keeler. You ain't anything like him at all."

A look of relief washes over Keeler's sad face. "Oh," he whispers, eyes brimming with tears. "Thank you. "

He remembers Tibalt, the frightened, lonely boy who used those same words, when he realized Encke wasn't going to rape him. Wasn't going to be just another brutal fighter who took what he wanted, whenever he wanted. The Colterons did enough of that already.

And now here was Keeler, just as lost and out of place, trying to be a part of something important. Something bigger than he was. Encke joined the Alliance feeling that way too, when he was young and full of heroic dreams. Now he's lonely too, and Keeler is trying to tell him, he doesn't have to be anymore.

"You wanna stop being lonely, baby?" he asks quietly, cupping Keeler's face and brushing a tear away with his thumb. "Yeah. Me too." He pulls Keeler toward him, warm against his side. "Me too."

Keeler tilts his face up when Encke lowers his, both of their mouths are open and moist. It's awkward, it's been too long for either of them to have any finesse, and neither wants to disappoint. And then Encke threads his fingers through Keeler's hair, loose without it's usual braid, palm caressing the warm, soft skin of his neck. Keeler moans, pressing against him just a little closer, and it's all the permission Encke needs.

His tongue strokes against Keeler's and God, why has he denied himself this so long? It's wet, and hot, and it's setting him on fire, the way Keeler's tongue curls against his. Encke can't explore him deep enough or hard enough and when they break apart, panting, it's only to draw a shakey breath before they're kissing again.

Keeler is tugging at him, urging him to lay on top of him but Encke does stop, eyes closed as he struggles for control. He touches his forehead to Keeler's when he makes a small sound of distress.

"How much you want, baby? " he pants, " 'Cos it's been been a long time for this boy and pretty soon, I'm not gonna be able to stop."

"Everything," Keeler says, mouthing his ear and letting his tongue gently stroke inside. "Whatever you want, please, Encke, don't make me wait anymore."

One of them is moaning and Encke realizes with a shudder it's him. He presses Keeler down to the mattress, rolling fully on top of him and forcing his legs apart with his thighs.

"Unnh!" Keeler is writhing under him and Encke has his face buried in his silky hair, sucking at his throat. "Encke!" Keeler wails, "please please-!"

Their groins are pressed together and as Encke rocks against him Keeler is begging and rocking back, so sexy and they haven't even gotten their clothes off yet. Then Keeler's hands move down, to grab his ass, hard, pushing Encke against him, pushing, pushing, his cries escalating until his body tenses and with a jolt Encke feels him, hot and liquid between their bodies.

"Ohhh" Keeler moans shakily as Encke pulls back to look at him. "Oh I'm sorry, I...mmm...I couldn't help it." He smiles, lips swollen from kissing and skin flushed from his climax. " I'ts been a long time for me, too."

Encke stares down at him."Nothin' to apologize for, baby, damn, you are so goddamn sexy."

They disengage long enough for both of them to shed their clothes and Keeler to wipe himself hastily clean. By now Encke is hard and aching and he gasps, thrusting into Keeler's hand when he reaches down to stroke him.

"Here," Keeler positions them both on their knees , chests pressed together and the first skin on skin contact almost tips Encke over the edge. Then Keeler is kissing him again, one hand at the back of his neck and the other pulling at his dick, hard. When he reaches down to fondle his balls too, Encke groans and comes, shaking and digging his hands into Keeler's thighs.

"Fuck!" he gasps, head spinning and Keeler laughs.

"Yes," he purrs against his lips. "Yes yes yes."

They stumble in to the shower, and Encke's hands roam all the places they'd longed to explore. Keeler's body is deliciously soapy as Encke's hands tease his nipples and stroke his arms and chest. He lifts him, Keeler's legs wrapping around his waist as Encke presses his back against the shower wall, mouth's locked together. His hands are cupping Keeler's sweet ass and as they rub together his fingers slip back, finding the cleft and sliding up and down.

"Ummm, yes!" Keeler gasps when Encke's thumb circles his hole. "Mmmm, that feels so good, oh don't stop, please don't stop!"

"Ready for me to fuck you, baby?" Encke croons, "or you just want me to tease you and make you scream?"

"Oh fuck me, tease me, Encke I don't care just-just-!" He writhes as Encke lifts him higher and starts suckling his nipples, one after the other. "Ah! Oh oh I can't stand it, oh please I need you to fuck me, please!"

His legs are in a vice grip worthy of a wrestler and Encke laughs , trying to tug him free.

"Loosen up, baby, lemme set you down and turn you 'round, I'll give you what you need."

"No no on the bed," Keeler begs as he lets Encke set him on his feet. He makes a cry of frustration as Encke turns him bodily again, facing the wall and yanked hard back against his chest.

Encke rubs his dick slow against the small of Keeler's back. "You ain't gonna make it to the bed, and neither am I."

"I want you on top of me, baby, please," Keeler twists to look up at Encke, pleading. "So you can hold me down."

Encke blinks, an unbearable spike of arousal lancing through him.

"Well ain't you just full of surprises today," he grins. He reaches over to turn off the water, then gives Keeler a playful slap on the ass. "Maybe you want me to spank you too?"

Keeler grabs a towel and throws it at him, giggling. "Maybe you should shut up and get dried off so you can find out!"

"Ooo, you in for it now, baby, I hope you like it good and red!"

"Bite me!"

"Ha ha, whatever you say!"

Some how they end up in bed again and Keeler is on top this time, kissing and licking his way down Encke's body. Now it's Encke's turn to moan and beg as that sweet little tongue teases his nipples and licks his pits, trailing down his ribs to lave across his belly button. When it swirls around the head of his dick he raises up on his elbows, gazing down at a recruits wet dream.

Keeler's lips glide up and down as the huge swollen shaft disappears in his mouth over and over again. His face is flushed and his blue eyes glance up at Encke, locking on his for a moment before they close again in bliss. It's too much for Encke and he grips Keeler's hair, trying to be gentle as he pulls his mouth off with a wet pop.

"Didn't you like it?" Keeler frets, lips just inches from Enckes purple, twitching cock.

"Too much," Encke gasps. "I wanna be buried in your tight little ass when I come. "

He climbs clumsily off the bed and pads naked to his locker to fish out a tube of lube. When he looks back at the bed, Keeler is splayed out stroking his own dick idly, eyes half lidded and body languid and heart stoppingly beautiful. His eyes are roaming over Encke's muscled frame with a look of lazy delight.

"You're so gorgeous, Encke" he murmurs, and raises one bent leg in invitation. "Come get me ready, I want to feel you in me."

"Workin' on it, baby," Encke smiles. He joins him on the bed again, kneeling between his legs and pulling them, spread, over his thighs. He squeezes the lube over his fingers and rubs them together to warm it up, before his hand lowers to the secret place behind Keeler's tightly swollen balls. "You tell me if I hurt you and I'll ease up."

"You won't," he whispers, smiling back. "I trust you."

Encke teases him a bit more with his slicked fingers and his mouth on his dick before he penetrates him, first with one, and then when the tension has relaxed, with two. It still burns, he can tell by the distress and sweat on Keeler's face so he mouths soft, apologetic kisses to his neck and the side of his face.

When he feels the tension finally melt away he raises one of Keeler's legs to his shoulder, leaning forward with his body as his fingers search deeper. Watching Keeler's beautiful expression twist in pleasure is almost more than he can take.

"Now, please," Keeler pants, reaching up to caress his face, so Encke positions himself and pulls both of Keeler's legs over his broad shoulders. It's an incredibly vulnerable place for one man, to put himself at another man's mercy, and the level of trust between them now is something Encke will not destroy.

"Breathe, baby, breathe," he coaxes as he presses forward, feeling Keeler's body trying to relax. "God you're beautiful, baby, c'mon, let me inside you, baby, let me make you feel so good..."

"Ah!" Keeler sobs, and Encke knows it's hurting but when he tries to pull out Keeler clutches his back desperately.

"Just- just a minute, I'll be o-okay in a minute..."

Encke kisses his eyelids and holds himself still, though the urge to thrust is making him shake. "I'm sorry baby, " he murmurs. "We can do it another way-"

"No!" Keeler pleads. "Stay with me."

Stay with me. God help him, this isn't just a fuck anymore.

"Not- " he presses forward again, feeling the resistance of Keeler's body give way. The heat and friction are intense and he grits his teeth, sweat rolling down his back. "-Goin' any where."

And then "I'm inside you," he gasps, shaking and squeezing his eyes tight. "Oh, God, I'm inside you."

He's moving then, in Keeler and with him and Keeler is crying out and begging for more, harder, please, please-!

Encke grabs his wrists and forces his arms down on the mattress on either side of his head and pounds into him. Keeler is screaming loud enough to be heard three decks away but neither of them care. When his climax wells out of him the thick, hot jets spray Encke's chest, landing in Keeler's own neck and hair. A dim portion of Encke's brain registers the fact he'd just come from being penetrated alone, and suddenly he's coming too, the sweet bliss of release flooding hot from his body into Keeler's.

"I love you," one of them whispers, and then Keeler is crying and looking at him, his face lit up with joy.

"I love you too, Encke," he says thickly, laughing and kissing Encke through his tears. "I love you, too."

Right now, Encke thinks, lying on his bed with a sleeping, sated Keeler draped across him, there is no war. No orders, no shouting, no lies. There's no Aaron anymore, either, and Encke knows without a doubt what they shared was never love. It doesn't even come close to this.

"Hey, kid."

Encke opens his eyes, and smiles sleepily. Job smiles back at him, standing beside the bed, looking at the two entwined lovers with quiet approval.

"Hey Job."

"I've come to say goodbye."

Encke's smile fades. "Why?"

Job's eyes crinkle at the corners as his smile turns into a grin. "You don't need me anymore. You finally found what you were looking for." He shakes his head. "Took you long enough, dumbass."

Encke blushes, smiling sheepishly. "Yeah, guess I did." His hand strokes Keeler's back slowly, heavy and warm.

"It's not gonna be easy, kid," Job warns. "You think war is tough? Love is the hardest battle there is. You think you're man enough to handle that, kid?"

Encke is quiet for a long time. "Nope," he answers honestly. "I ain't got a clue how to love somebody. Neither does he," he adds, tipping his head towards the sleeping Keeler. He shruggs. "Guess we're gonna have to figure it out together."

A radient smile breaks out on Job's plain face. "I guess you will, kid," he laughs. "I guess you will."

He steps back, already begining to fade.

"Goodbye, Encke. I love you, bro."

"Love you too, Job," Encke says, voice thick with emotion. "Love you forever."

"What?" Keeler asks muzzily, face pressed to Encke's bare chest. "Did you say something, Encke?"

Encke swallows, rubbing his eyes. "No, baby, go back to sleep."

"M'kay," Keeler murmurs, snuggling closer to him. In a few moments he is fast asleep again, face and body relaxed and completely at peace.

Me too, Encke thinks for the first time in his life. He closes his eyes with a smile. Me too.


End file.
